Like a horse about to be put down, the winter’s last moments are always its fiercest. On the desert of Ghobi, separating the highlands next to the shore and the lands of the dragon folk, and as all of God’s creatures took to hide from the cold, a man was dragging a carriage. Next to him walked a camel, solemnly and reverently, its eyes beaming like a lighthouse. The sun has been down for a couple of hours, and the icy winds were as playful and unpredictable as young pups. The moon and stars lit ablaze, as if aware of their importance to precarious adventurers in these settings. The man was bigger and bulkier than average, clean shaved and wearing a delightful smile. He had a white robe, furry shoes, and he tied a turban around his head. He seemed to be enjoying the situation, as if on a Sunday afternoon stroll. On the carriage was a big pile of wool covers, under which a young face gazed upon the night sky with empty eyes. It was Nile. Neither asleep nor fully awake, stuck in a state o
Short stories about bounty hunters